


I NEED A HERO

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: CLUBBING [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clubbing, Dramatics, Drug Use, M/M, swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is being wierd and when John finds out why he does something desperate and completely stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I NEED A HERO

CLUBBING

ONE

I NEED A HERO

John gave up wondering and followed Sherlock Friday night. He was sick of the quiet hollowness that had been his flatmate the past four weeks. Something was wrong. Something major.

Sherlock hunched over in his huge Belstaff. A light misty rain was falling and it was cold. John was great full for his khaki anorak with the fur cuff round the hood. Why in the hell Sherlock didn't take a cab John had no idea but it sure made following him easier.

Soon they reached the lighter fun end of town. The rain was still a mist. John saw Sherlock slip into a club and John was a bit surprised.

And then worried...

John waited 10 minutes, then paid the price and went in too. 

His anorak was dripping but there was nowhere to hang it so he merely shrugged it off and folded it in on itself to save on the floors...

He cast his eyes around the club. It was a nice place. Lovely curved bar and a mezzanine floor for the DJ held up with gorgeous red pillars. People were dancing, and drinking. It was bright and cheery.

Very not Sherlock.

There was no sign of the detective so John sidled up to the bar.

"You see a guy come in here, tall, black hair, outrageously poncey coat, cheekbones....?"

"He's in the back." the bartender said, pointing over his shoulder.

"Cheers".

John made his way down a plush carpeted hall. The music became dull and quiet. He went past doors marked with "ladies" and "gents" on in gold. There were other doors but he did not go in any of them. He finally heard voices behind a cracked door with golden light spilling out of it.

John paused, took in a deep breath, and pushed the door open as quietly as he could.

Sherlock was in the room with another man. In three seconds John took in everything.

The other man was laid back on a chair, his feet up on the table. He was in shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, cigarette held in long fingers over an ash tray. He was laughing in a low way at Sherlock.

The lanky detective was on the couch, coat off, hair still dripping. One shirt sleeve was rolled up, and a length of thin flexible rubber was would around his upper arm, the end of it clinched in Sherlocks teeth. Sherlock had a syringe up on his scarred elbow vein and was just about to plunge it home.

Johns forebrain worked just as his base brain began to jibber. 

Without a word he dropped his coat with a wet splat and crossed the space to Sherlock in three huge strides.

"Hey!" the stranger yelled, removing his feet from the table.

"John...." Sherlock said around the rubber in his mouth. His eyes opened wide in shock and this shock enabled John to grab the syringe from Sherlocks loose fingers. In the next second John snapped the rubber from Sherlocks teeth and yanked it from Sherlocks arm.

"You complete prick!" John hissed, putting the syringe in his teeth like a rose for a lover. He began to roll up the sleeve of his right arm.

"John, what are you-"

"Sherlock, do I need to get the bouncer?" The man at the table asked.

"No!" Sherlock snapped, then turned back to John, who was now wrapping the thin rubber strap around his own arm.

"John, what the fuck are you doing?" he asked, reaching forward,

"No!" John spat round the syringe. "Fuck off!"

"John, don't do this!" Sherlock said as John tied off the rubber and pumped his hand to puff up a beautiful vein. John removed the syringe from his mouth and stared straight into Sherlocks eyes.

"I am not letting you do this." John hissed, showing Sherlock the syringe. "I am not scraping you together again, I am not hosing you up off the pavement again, I will NOT watch you die again!"

"John-"

"No, you fucker." John hissed, spit shooting from his mouth. "You have no idea how much it killed me watching you dive off that roof, you fucking FUCKING cunt! So now, you get to watch ME!"

"JOHN!!!!" Sherlock screamed as John turned the syringe around, and aimed it at his vein. Sherlock launched himself at John but it was a second too late, John turned his hard army-trained shoulder to Sherlock and it caught the detective under the sternum with a whoosh. Sherlock slumped onto his back, breathless.

With sleight of hand John made it seem like he emptied the whole syringe into his arm, when in fact he pierced his jeans leg and the liquid drained harmlessly down his thigh . He sucked his breath in and jabbed the empty syringe into his vein, praying he would have no I'll effects but wanting to make it look real. He fell to his knees and moaned.

"No, John, God, no!!!" Sherlock screamed, rolling up to his knees and gasping as his breath slowly came back. "Cam, call an ambulance!"

"I can't Sherlock, I can't bring trouble here!!" the man screamed back.

"He'll die!!!! He'll die!!!" Sherlock became hysterical. 

John took that as his cue to roll his eyes back and collapse onto his side.

"John!!!" Sherlock was beyond hysterical now. He gathered John to his lap, yanking out the syringe and tearing the rubber from Johns arm. He began to beg Cameron but Cameron was sticking to his guns, even as he backed away and ran from the room.

Sherlock forgot about Cam as soon as he stared into Johns half lidded eyes. 

"John...why...?" Sherlock sobbed, scrabbling with shaking fingers to get his phone from his trouser pocket. 

"Love....you." John told him quietly. He did. He had no idea if this stupid dramatics would work but he was desperate. And he DID love Sherlock. Loved him so much.

"You bastard!" Sherlock sobbed wetly, curling over Johns head and rocking, even as he flipped out his phone.

"Mycroft help me please.....it's John, he's overdosed, he's dying...Mycroft...

John took this as he cue to "pass out" and Sherlock was beside himself. He sobbed and rocked and keened, stroking Johns face and mumbling stupidly.

Mycroft was a champion of organisation. In 8 minutes John was on a stretcher and whisked out of the room, Mycroft was hurrying down the hall and stopped when he saw John on the stretcher.

Another paramedic was left to pick Sherlock up and, while he was distracted, John scared the paramedic by grabbing a surprised Mycrofts arm and explaining in two quick sentences what he had done. 

Mycroft lifted an eyebrow.

"Well Doctor Watson...you devious clever little man.."

"Mycroft...I was desperate! I will do anything for your brother. ANYTHING..."

Mycroft nodded.

"Thank you....John..." he said. 

"I want to ride with John!" came Sherlocks anguished cry.

"He can't, he will see I get no treatment!"

"John, I will take care of it." Mycroft said. Then he squeezed Johns shoulder. It was as emotional as he got and John understood. 

He was then rolled out of the club and into a waiting ambulance.

#


	2. HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a wee breakdown and comfort comes from an unlikely source.

CLUBBING

I NEED A HERO

CHAPTER TWO: HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

"You sanctimonious patronising fuck of an arseFUCK!!!"

"I see Johns told Sherlock then..." Mycroft said to Anthea as they waited outside Johns hospital room the next morning.

"Just then Sir." Anthea said, smiling at her boss.

"Quite. Anything thrown?"

"Not yet Sir..."

Mycroft thought this over.

"I'll wait then."

#

"I have spent the NIGHT....John, the whole fucking NIGHT...worried out of my mind!" Sherlock said loudly, not looking at his friend but pacing pacing pacing and looking at his shoes as he went.

John was trying to dress himself ready to go home from his fake overnight visit to the hospital. Well, he was checked over just in case any drug got into his system but all the tests were clear.

 

"I thought you were dying John!

John silently pulled on his socks.

"I was out of my MIND, you complete tosser!!

John slid into his jeans.

"I literally thought I was holding your life in my hands!"

John shucked out of his hospital robe and slid on his shirt. His arm was a little sore. He winced a bit.

"God damn you John, what were you thinking? To scare me to death?"

John put on the green anorak, zipped it and shoved his hands deep in the pockets

He was ready to go home. 

Sherlock had not stopped though so he waited.

"How could you DO that to me????"

He finally turned and looked at John, dressed and ready to go. John said nothing. He was wrung out and not at all proud of himself. His actions had consequences, and here they were, being played out. Dammit, his eyes went blurry. 

"It was a prick of a thing to do." He whispered. "But fuckit if I would not do the same thing again. In a heartbeat. In HALF a heartbeat." 

Sherlocks face went all kaleidoscopic and John knew then he was crying. He let himself cry. It felt fucking good. He had seen Sherlock fly off a roof and die in front of him once, and last night he was sure he was going to see it again. Sherlock, dead. No pulse. Only this time, no coming back. 

"I only pretended to take the stuff that's true." John said, his voice harsher than he wanted it to be because it was coming out around a sickening lump in his throat. "But I would take the real stuff if I had to. I would. Fuck, Sherlock, I would cut out my own heart for you."

Sherlock looked confused.

"But....WHY?" he whispered, spreading his arms out and frowning.

"Jesus Sherlock, you are dense. I love you." John shrugged. "I love you."

"You...?"

"I won't lose you again. I just won't." and he shrugged again, quite aware now that his tears had spilled and were tracking down his face. He didn't care. "When I saw you, that rubber, that fucking needle, I think my whole heart stopped beating. Just for a second. I know part of me stopped thinking. I reacted totally by instinct and...pretending to take the drugs was all my reptilian brain came up with. It was all I had in my arsenal then. And God fuck it I ran with it." He drew in a shuddering breath. "Sherlock...drugs again...why?" John pleaded. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Kill you, John, no!" Sherlock protested. He stepped forward and John steeped back, taking one hand out of his pocket to hold it up, shaking his head.

"Don't, don't..." John swallowed and closed his eyes. Just for a second. "I was just telling myself my actions have consequences. Well Sherlock, so do yours. Here they are."

John put his hand back in the anoraks pocket, steeling himself for what he was to say.

"Sherlock. I can't watch you crucify yourself on a needle. I am trying to be strong, trying to be strong for both of us, but pieces of me break so easily when I am with you. If you...if you.." he paused, and he began sobbing. He didn't mean to, it just happened. "I just can't do this again. This is me desperate, and hanging by a rope Sherlock. Believe me when I say this. If you do this...if you choose the needle...then I am gone. I didn't want to be a prick and give you some fucking ultimatum but Sherlock...I am just not strong enough." his chest caved then and he sobbed in earnest, staring at the ground, letting the tears just run down his face.

"God...John..." Sherlock choked, his face as pale as a ghost.

The door slammed open then, making them jump. Mycroft strode over to John and threw one arm around him. John sobbed great fully and buried his face into Mycrofts suit jacket, fisting the waistcoat in shaking hands.Sherlock made a move to step forward but Mycroft parried his umbrella like a sword and pressed it to Sherlocks chest.

"Stay there, brother dear." he said, in a nice calm voice. "I am taking John home. You may take a cab."

"Myc-"

"Are you ready to go, John?" Mycroft asked the still sobbing doctor, who nodded, head buried away where Sherlock could not see. Mycroft nodded, let the umbrella drop and walked out, John clinging to him.

"John-"

"Sherlock, you have done many noble things in your life for whatever reasons." Mycroft said, pausing before the door. "What you did last night, what you are doing now, to John, you may rest assured is not noble even in the slightest, and I am ashamed of your behaviour."

"John, I didn't know, I didn't KNOW!" Sherlock tried to explain.

"Weather you knew or not brother dear, you must have realised Dr Watson is a rare human being. What he sees in you I will never know."

With that, he curled the good doctor in under his arm like a hen with a chick and then they were gone.

Sherlock stood still, his fantastic mind frozen.

"Buggery fuck...." was all he could think of to say.

#


	3. HE'S GOTTA BE FREASH FROM THE FIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness comes at the end of a velvet tongue.

CLUBBING

I NEED A HERO

CHAPTER THREE: HE'S GOTTA BE FRESH FROM THE FIGHT

When Sherlock finally dragged himself back to the flat it was dark. He had spent the day walking and thinking. Walking had got him far but thinking hadn't.

He got a txt from Mycroft mid afternoon.

HAVE FED JOHN AND DROPPED HIM HOME. I SUGGEST A NICE LONG CHAT WITH HIM.

Sherlock wanted to go to John instantly, but his guilt would not let him.

By the time he finally got home John was asleep on the sofa, still in the anorak. He was on his side, his head using the arm of though as a pillow, legs curled up, hood on, hands rammed into the pockets. Sherlock could see a tuft of blonde hair and one closed eye under the massive hood.

This beautiful caring wondrous human being loved him. Crazy Sherlock. The Freak.

Sherlock sat cross legged on the floor in front of the couch and called Johns name softly. A few times. Then brushed the fringe from Johns one visible eye.

This eye popped open.

"oh, Sherlock-" John said, and tried to sit up, forgetting he had his hands in the anorak pockets. Sherlock hooked half his mouth in a crooked smile. John looked like a giant green caterpillar for a second until the hands came free and he sat up. "Hey..." he added.

"John." Sherlock nodded.

"Whas' time?" 

"Early night. You been asleep long?"

"Mycroft drugged my tea."

"He does that. You must have told him 'no' to something he requested."

John nodded. "Uh huh, sleep..oh..."

"He's sneaky" Sherlock said. "He is also right."

"Mmmm" John nodded, then frowned. "'bout what?"

"My behaviour. It was appalling."

"Can you tell me now...why...how long...?" John waved his hand. "Please...sit up next to me..."  
Sherlock slid up onto the couch and both he and John faced each other. John pushed the hood off his face and Sherlock mimicked the movement with own his unruly hair.

"Why? There was nothing specific." Sherlock said. "A series of events. Anderson blew smoke in my face when I told him I had given up again-"

"Prick."

"Agreed. The overdose case last month. Seeing the syringes. Then the anniversary of my return, that man who punched you in the ribs before I could stop him, Mrs Hudson's damned cat dying. They all just..." Sherlock made a quiet explosion sound and shook his hands around his head to mime the fact it was his brain exploding.

John nodded and his hands went back into the anoraks pockets.

"And as for how long....29 days."

John dragged in a raggedy breath. He nodded.

"Thanks." he said. "Sherlock, I may be hungover from whatever the fuck Mycroft gave me but what I said stands."

"The ultimatum." Sherlock growled, nodding furiously, his eyes slipping to the carpet then up the walls, not really seeing anything.

"Yeah. That." John said, and his piercing gaze drew Sherlocks eyes back. Back to Johns open earnest tired face.

"I have been so blatantly stupid." Sherlock whispered then, and put one long fingered hand gently on Johns face. "Stupid stupid..John, can you forgive me?"

"It's not that easy. You can't just....kiss me behind the ear and all is forgiven!"

Sherlock lent forward, turning Johns head and nosing the short hairs behind Johns ear away before placing a soft, loving, hot kiss on the thin skin that lay behind Johns earlobe. John shuddered, closing his eyes.

Sherlock sat back, bringing his other hand to cup John Watsons face. Johns eyes opened and he stared straight into Sherlocks alien eyes, reading terror and a fierce desperation there.

"Forgive me?" the detective asked, biting his lip. Maybe he was joking, maybe he was deadly serious.

"I want to." John whispered. "But it's so hard to trust..."

Sherlock whimpered a tiny bit, and his eyes filmed over with clear liquid.

"Fuck, Sherlock, don't!" John kept his voice low but there was a catch. Sherlock crying was just too bloody much.

"John, I told you I was stupid. More stupid than I have ever been in my entire life." Sherlock drew in a stuttering breath. "I am conditioned to having nobody close to me in my life. I lumped you in with...well, everyone else. I was wrong. I should not have done that. I'm so sorry."

"You swan dived off a roof for me Sherlock."

"Well there as a gun pointed at your head."

"And Greg's. And Mrs Hudsons..."

"But I don't want to kiss them..." Sherlock whispered and brought his lips softly to Johns. He rubbed them gently across Johns warm mouth, the barest of touches,and Johns chest caught. 

"I am in love with you. From the second you passed me your phone at St Barts." Sherlock whispered into Johns mouth. "With your big eyes and your frown...John,you made me feel things, things it thought had died in me. I did not for a second believe you could reciprocate."

"Sherlock, you are a fucking dickhead." John said, and pressed his lips to Sherlocks hot hovering mouth. 

Sherlock moaned softly

"oh...yes..."

He encouraged John to kiss him harder. John took his hands out of his anorak and drove them up into Sherlocks beautiful hair, hair he had wanted to caress and pull for more years than he wanted to remember. It was as gorgeous as he hoped.

They shifted closer to each other. Tongues became involved. They both made lovely breathy moans into each other as they deepened the kiss further.

Sherlock then tipped Johns head back and began to trail hot wet kisses down the side of Johns neck. John moaned in appreciation, letting his head flop back. His hands became too relaxed to hold Sherlocks hair and they too flopped.

"I love you." Sherlock told him.

"Just...oh god, your mouth..." John forgot hat he was going to say. Those hot, perfect, velvet lips were doing things to him, lovely dirty things. He felt himself being lowered to the couch, Sherlocks warm heavy body on top of him, covering him. 

"John..." one growled word.

"Don't hurt me again Sherlock, I can't- oh Jesus...keep doing that...." John sighed.

"Never. Never John." Sherlock whispered, and claimed Johns mouth again. All Johns protests, fears and terror melted away under the softness of Sherlocks kiss. It may take a while to trust him, John thought, but the talent of that mans velvet tongue would sure help.

Across town Mycroft stopped watching the camera trained on the sofa at Baker street.

"That went exceedingly better than I planned." he said to Anthea.

Anthea smiled.

"Yes Sir" she said. "Yes indeed Sir."

Mycroft actually chuckled. 

"John Watson may be the making of my brother yet."

#


End file.
